An Infinite Space
by xfighterplane
Summary: -"Words fall out of his mouth like damned acid rain. He slurs, 'You're going to break my heart, Massie Block.' And that's exactly what she does." Because nothing goes to plan when you try to keep things no strings attached. Massington. Oneshot for Livvy.


_for livvy, happy birthday!_

_prompts: waterfalls, hot pink ink pen, and "tears trail down the face of the strong"  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>day one.<strong>

It all begins when she ends up dragging him out of Landon Crane's birthday party, somewhere between his seventh and twentieth shot of vodka. Not that he remembered, or anything. Despite their obvious height and build difference—lithe and delicate versus broad and strong—she manages to shove him inside of her beloved Benz and begin the journey to his home. Fitfully, she reminds him that it's not an act of charity as it is an act of loyalty. He only hears bits and pieces in his daze, like _Dylan and Josh owe me so much for this _and _holy shit you better not throw up in my car, I'll leave your ass on the side of the road and never look back, okay?_

Yet, there's a strange, suspended peace to it all. The soft hum of the motor along with the breathy acoustic music fluttering out of the radio make for the most alluring lullaby. And then he looks up and sees her. For a moment, the moon and streetlights hit her face, illuminating a silhouette that he's never noticed before. Suddenly, she's all burning amber eyes and red lips and a shock of wild hair- and he's at a stalemate.

Of course she notices the staring. "What's your problem, Harrington?" she asks, contempt piercing each and every word.

His equilibrium is regained for a millisecond, her tone was more sobering than coffee, before he crashes back to his inebriated haze once more. The words fall out of his mouth like damned acid rain. He slurs, "You're going to break my heart, Massie Block."

And that's exactly what she did.

* * *

><p><strong>day three.<strong>

The following Monday brought overdue hangovers and stolen glances. Derrick had recovered enough from the party (and the subsequent after-parties over the past two days) well enough to go to school. But it wasn't because he suddenly cared about his academic performance—he was guaranteed a soccer scholarship to Duke—it was because he only just realized he had English class with Massie Block.

It wasn't that he didn't know she was there, quite the opposite really. Her outspoken nature made her a fixture in class discussions, as she was endlessly passionate about whatever they happened to be reading and made it a point to voice her every thought. Of course, Derrick made it a point to block nearly all unnecessary noise in class, Massie included.

Except today.

"And what I think is the core of The Great Gatsby," Massie begins with confidence in her voice, even though half the class (including the teacher) were on the verge of following asleep, "is greed and the shallow lifestyle of the people on West Egg. Gatsby spends years becoming wealthy to win back Daisy—because she couldn't love him if she was poor, could she?—and it doesn't work. She never loved him, at least not in the way he wanted..."

She's pretty, he notes aimlessly, gazing at her as surreptitiously as he could. It just wasn't as remarkable as Dylan or Alicia's beauty, who were almost aggressively gorgeous. Massie's was more low-key, more subtle. As if she planned it that way, because, he was starting to think, it suited her awfully well.

"...and throughout the novel, Nick thinks he's above them all. Like he's the only one with a soul and the only one capable of honesty, but that's not true. By the end of the book, he's just as bad. Maybe even worse, because of the way he builds himself up to be..."

And when did she get so smart, anyway? She was always the smart one of the so-called A-list, but it wasn't like everyone else was stupid. The majority got decent, if not good, marks and were on the road to a satisfactory university. Even her. What made her different?

He pauses. He listens.

"What I think Fitzgerald is trying to do here is deconstruct society's notion of what suitable society ought to be. It needs to be looked at in terms of the times: the men were powerful, the women followed, the wealthy ruled..."

It's something in her voice, he decides immediately. Because there's a hell of a difference between being intelligent and knowing you are, and she falls into the latter with a crash.

She catches him staring, gaping, and studying. "What the hell are you looking at, Harrington?" Her voice is like bitterly cold water, not only waking up everyone up but leaving him numb in the process. He wasn't expecting that.

"Class," the teacher yawns as she fumbles with her notes, "let's get back to our discussion of the novel. Massie, can you pick up from where you left off?" The latter is met with groans and glares from everyone else.

But it's only when Massie's amber eyes linger on him for a moment—the coincidence is that they're nearly the same color as a caution sign—does she speak up once more.

**[...]**

"Block!" he calls out for her once English class is over and she's heading out the door. "Hey, Block!"

She doesn't turn around or stop walking. But, he catches up with her in a few strides. "Block," he begins, suddenly more suave, "didn't you hear me calling you?"

"Of I course I heard you," she snorts, "but I was taught not to stop and talk to the crazies."

Ouch. "No need for vitriol," he replies with a grin, "I just wanted to thank you for, you know, driving me home. I was really out of it."

"Alcohol tends to do that." She rolls her eyes. "Don't remind me of it. You were probably too wasted to remember, but I only did it because you were half-dressed while dancing on a table and serenading a pineapple. I was embarrassed for you."

The words cut deeper than any knife, but he amiably laughs it off. "Don't tell me you didn't enjoy the show," he teases.

"It's exactly what I'm telling you," she deadpans, halting at her locker and spinning the combination lock with more force than necessary. "Now you can tell Hotz that he owes me, okay, and we can forget this whole ordeal."

The locker slams with a bang, and she struts off in the same way.

* * *

><p><strong>day five.<strong>

"Why the hell does Massie hate me so much?" Subtly be damned. There's no delicacy or beating around the bush when it came to this girl. It was pure bluntness or _getthefuckout_.

This question is directed to Dylan and Josh at lunch, who manage to detach themselves from each other's faces to listen to his melodramatics. They had been nearly inseparable since that forsaken party, much to the dismay of the various boys who had a soft spot for Dylan and the girls who couldn't get enough of Josh's smile.

"She hates you?" His supposed best friend chuckles. "Sucks to be you. For real."

Dylan nods her head gravely. "Maybe you did something douchey to her before and you just don't remember it? Like how in the second grade, Olivia Ryan smashed Massie's birthday cupcake to the ground." She pauses thoughtfully. "Massie still hates her for it."

The couple erupts in a fit of childish giggles and he can't help but wonder how he ended up being friends with them.

"Seriously, guys," he sighs with just a touch of desperation, "I tried thanking her for not leaving me on the road and everything and she acts like I killed her mother or something. What gives?"

Dyl clicks her tongue sympathetically. "Massie doesn't hate you. She's just...abrasive, you know? To strangers at least. Once you earn her trust, you're golden in her book."

"And how do I do that?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Better question is, do you _want_ to?"

* * *

><p><strong>day eight.<strong>

He catches her on her free period, lounging on a chintz armchair by the window and looking like the ideal student of New England preparatory school. On general principle, he only went to the library when absolutely necessary—catching up on sleep in a quiet place or frantically typing that paper he had a month to do. But when Dylan let it slip that Massie liked to hang out there, he had to grasp the opportunity.

"Hey there," he greets her cheerfully. Her eyes flick up, but she doesn't take out her headphones or put down her book. Room at the Top, he made a mental note to sparknotes it.

Out of awkwardness of her lack of a response, he sits down on the chair next to her. He flips through a magazine from the table. He texts on his phone. He pops his gum.

"Can you shut the hell up?" Finally, he got to her. If looks could kill, however, he would have been dead twice over.

"Oh," he says, feigning innocence, "was I bothering you?

Her lips curl up into a sneer. "Yes."

"Well, since you didn't say anything when I sat down..." He shrugs. "I figured maybe you were just ignoring it."

"I make it a point to ignore assholes."

"Ooh, why don't you tell me how you really feel?" His unwavering charm and her persistent venom were like oil and water, adverse and resoundingly unpleasant.

"What do you want, Harrington?"

And then he says the one word that damns both in the end, "_You_."

**[...]**

"Dude," Josh says to him later at the end of soccer practice, "you can't claim Massie wants you and then wonder why she hates you. I mean, really." Obviously a chain of ranting had occurred, beginning with Massie, Dylan intercepting, and ending with his best friend.

He laughs. "It was only a joke. Relax."

"You could get any girl you wanted, you know. So I don't see why you don't lay off of Massie, she's clearly not interested," Josh explains to deaf ears. "Fuck. This is a cliche waiting to happen, isn't it?"

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

><p><strong>day twelve.<strong>

For a while, it's a cat and mouse game of him making remarks to her ranging from "_that shirt brings out your eyes_" to "_why don't you, me, and the back of my car get more acquainted?_" Josh's words were true, that he could have had any girl he desired, a girl who would fall for one of those lines and reciprocate the mutual feelings of limerence (lust, at least). But what was wrong with having a bit of fun and getting someone as collected as Massie riled up? It was a welcome distraction.

"You're looking lovely today," he says to her when she (grudgingly) is forced to sit next to him in English. "No surprise there"

A few girls swoon (_how romantic_). Some seethe (_lucky bitch)_. The boys are intrigued (_I thought Block hates guys or played for the other team_). But Massie rolls her eyes and retorts, "You're acting contumelious today. No surprise there."

He looks up "contumelious" when he goes home.

contumelious (adjective)

_- Rudeness or contempt arising from arrogance; insolent._

Clever.

* * *

><p><strong>day seventeen.<strong>

First thing in the morning, he sidles up to her at her locker with a proposition. "I'm throwing a party next week," he announces proudly, "you've probably heard of it."

"That's a pretty daring assumption," she replies, pursing her lips.

"Details, my lady, details. Anyway, you should go. It'll be a lot of fun." Handing her a bright yellow flyer printed with any necessary facts (8pm, BYOB, bring your lady friends), he made sure to linger on her cold hand, even if she swatted it away quickly.

"We must have different definition of fun," she muses.

"But on the plus side, you won't have to be my chauffeur when I'm drunk off my ass." For the tiniest of milliseconds, her eyes light up and a tiny smile flashes on her face. But just as quickly, it was gone and her steely gaze returns.

"Tempting."

"You don't know temptation yet," he remarks lowly, leaning in slightly closer to her. Her default nature would be to take a furtive step backwards and glare at him, but she improvises and surprises them both.

Standing on her tiptoes, she whispers in his ear, "Like you could be the one to teach me?" How foolish of him, to think that she could be anything besides mocking and inhibited, excluding being on his level when it came to the game of pulling on heartstrings.

When she flips her hair back and walks away, he swears he catches that smile re-appear

* * *

><p><strong>day nineteen.<strong>

**dylan (9:45): **kori geldman told me that you said you'd like to paint a portrait of massie so her beauty could be preserved forever. the fuck?

**derrick (9:47):** someone sounds jealous.

**dylan (9:48): **someone has a kickass boyfriend, so the notion of jealousy over a plebe like you is laughable.

**dylan (9:49): **and what is going on between you two anyway? are you genuinely interested in her and therefore make comments like that or do you just need a hobby to pass the time between soccer and getting in some girl's bed?

**dylan (9:50):** because i swear, you could just take up fucking knitting.

**derrick (9:51):** fucking knitting sounds interesting. but won't the needles get in the way?

**dylan (9:52): **i'm praying for your soul right now.

**derrick (9:55):** whatever. hey, do you happen to have massie's number? and have i ever told you that i should paint a portrait of you so your beauty could be preserved forever?

**dylan (9:56): **oh go to hell.

* * *

><p><strong>day twenty. <strong>

**derrick (6:09):** hey, massie. it's derrick, not some creepy stalker or anything. dylan practically threw your number at me and i thought i'd be a gentleman and say hello. hello.

* * *

><p><strong>day twenty-one.<strong>

**derrick (3:45):** hi there, the tomahawks are playing the spartans. tonight, we dine in hell. maybe you and me could dine afterwards?

* * *

><p><strong>day twenty-two<strong>

**derrick (7:23):** so, i'm assembling a list of '_gorgeous girls named massie block attending my party_' and i was wondering if i should add you to it?

* * *

><p><strong>day twenty-three.<strong>

**derrick (8:12):** just a head's up, i'm wearing my striped shirt tomorrow to the party that you're definitely going to. i've been told that shirt makes me irresistible. approach with caution.

* * *

><p><strong>day twenty-four.<strong>

One could say a lot about Derrick Harrington, that he was a decent friend (if your name happened to be Josh Hotz or Dylan Marvil), he was a caring paramour (as long as you accept he won't call you back), and an all-around good guy (just don't be annoying, okay?). But judging by the mass of people dancing and generally going insane at his latest bash—pounding music, hysterical laughter, some kid dressed as a tiger—one could safely add that he knew how to throw a party.

"THIS IS AMAZING!" Resident awkward turtle Chris Plovert bellows in his ears as he makes his rounds around the house as the beloved host. Not that Plovert's reaction was a surprise, judging by the absurd amount of girls practically dancing on top of him. If there was something this party succeeded in, it was mixing the A, B, C, and any other letter lists together for one crazy night.

He glides from group to group, greeting soccer players and other athletes, student council members, drama club members, and the occasional rave kid having a little too much fun. All in all, it was a satisfying amount of people. There's no complaining with two hundred partygoers and nobody's called the cops yet.

The smoke and music eventually gets to him, and he yells out to the cuddling Dylan and Josh, "I'm gonna go get some air!" while gesturing at the seemingly abandoned veranda in the back.

Seemingly abandoned, however.

He's so taken with the scent of the rain from earlier that day and with the image of that bright, gleaming moon under the backdrop of the murky, dark sky that he doesn't notice her at first. It's only when he sees a wisp of cigarette smoke rising up to the air and the smell of tobacco conflicting with the petrichor does he turn around and see her.

_Massie_. Massie sitting on a lawn chair, peacefully smoking and watching the sky like it's her television show. He doesn't quite know what he's more surprised over: the fact that she showed up to the party or that she was partaking in a particularly nasty vice.

He goes with the latter. "Don't tell me you're a smoker, Block," he states plainly as he sits on the chair next to her.

She's not even remotely fazed by his presence. "Somebody handed me a pack and I figured they shouldn't go to waste," she replied easily, if not a touch defensive.

"That's some brilliant logic there."

There's no witty comeback, just another round of polluted mist escaping her lips. "Nice shirt," she says finally after a few minutes of silence.

So she had gotten his texts, just didn't care enough to respond. "It looks better on the floor of my room. I'm betting that outfit of yours is the same way."

She coughs, but something tells him it's not from the cigarette. "My boyfriend wouldn't like that, now would he?"

Now it's his turn to nearly choke, only with the added bonus of a sudden pang in his stomach and the urge to kick something. Was it simply shock or perhaps the smallest case of envy? Only his heart knew, and it wasn't answering.

"You have a boyfriend?" he repeats, taken aback by his own patheticness. What the hell did he care, anyway? She was just some girl that he habitually hit on. Nothing special there.

Then, he hears her laugh for the first time ever. It's a nice one, just as raspy as her speaking voice, but contagious. Like she really thinks that's funny. "God, no."

A flood of relief washed over him, but to be fair, it could have been the buzz of alcohol. "Why not?" he queries. "I don't think I've ever seen you date anyone."

She shrugs. "You don't date either, do you?" Putting out the cigarette, she adds, "You just mess around with anyone with female genitalia and hope nothing goes wrong."

"Sounds like you've been observing me. Frankly, I'm a little flattered."

"I observe a lot of people. Usually the worst ones."

"That hurt."

"That was my intention," she says. There's a crash and an explosion of shouts back inside, but the noise is dulled, at least to his ears. "Plus," she muses, "we're seniors. Why get attached now? I mean, the past three years were spent waiting for you guys to grow up and now...why bother? We're all leaving soon."

He points out, "Not for a couple of months."

"Still," she continues, "we're young. People act like they want to be married off, with the way they're constantly declaring their love for each other."

Wait. Rewind. Did she just make sense?

"Oh, God, I know what you're talking about." He shakes his head. "Why is everyone so serious about relationships? Writing pointless shit like '_always and forever_' or '_I miss my love_' on Facebook. Like, damn, you're going to feel so stupid when you break up."

"And it's always a _when_. Never an if, nobody lasts forever, at least not in high school. It's mad to even try."

He couldn't believe it. Not only was he having a somewhat civil conversation with Massie Block, they were actually in agreement. With each other. Holy shit.

She's quiet for several minutes before saying, "I wish there were more people who thought this way. At least I'd have someone to talk to who wouldn't run off the second some guy tells them they're pretty."

He chuckles. "You could talk to me," he persuades. "No guy tells me I'm pretty."

If it were any other night and she hadn't been sitting there smoking that cigarette and the sky wasn't so unsettling and they just hadn't said those words, Massie probably wouldn't have told him go jump off a cliff or a bridge or something equally painful. But it wasn't another night, no, it was this night.

"I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

><p><strong>day twenty-seven.<strong>

It all _really_ begins when she slides him a note that says "_Rooftop, lunch_" scrawled in hot pink pen during English class. At first he thinks it's from some random girl trying to be cryptic and mysterious, but then he sees Massie raise an eyebrow challengingly and he realizes that's Massie just being...Massie.

But he meets her there anyway, because some mysteries need to be solved.

"I thought a lot about what we said," she starts, sitting Indian style on the abandoned Briarwood rooftop, wind gusting through her hair, "about how love is ridiculous. And I wondered..." she trailed off, but kept her fierce gaze on him.

"Wondered what?" he asked, gobsmacked.

Biting her lip, she says quickly, "Well, I don't want to be attached and you don't want to be attached and hell, I've been bored lately and I need to test something out so maybe we could..." In that moment, he felt unnervingly like he was on a steadily ascending roller coaster, just on the brink of plumetting.

"Maybe we could be unattached...together?" A mischievous grin pops up on her face. It's wicked and it's menacing and he probably should've ran right there, but he doesn't, because above all, it's hypnotizing.

Without another word, he presses his lips to hers and they're both going to hate themselves in the morning.

* * *

><p><strong>day forty-one<strong>

_Rules for Hooking Up, No Strings Attached, with Massie Block  
><em>by Derrick Harrington

1.) Nobody finds out, nobody gets punched in the face.

2.) Just because you're making out feverishly whenever you're done with practice and she's finished with her homework and in supply closets inbetween, doesn't mean you can touch her in public. Ever. She will kick you in the shin and it will hurt like a bitch for a week.

3.) Don't get your feelings hurt when she makes it clear that "it's only physical" and "that doesn't mean we're suddenly cool, okay?"

4.) When she makes the claim "we're not friends with benefits because we're not friends", don't argue with her. It wastes valuable time and your mouths could be doing something else.

5.) Never call her "babe" or "love" or "Massiekins", even if you're being sarcastic about it. Coincidentally, her punches also hurt like a bitch for a week.

* * *

><p><strong>day fifty-six.<strong>

"Do you have to elbow me in the face? Shit, I'm gonna have such a bruise in the morning."

"Stop being such a baby."

"You don't understand, though. This is the moneymaker, this is why all the ladies adore me. Including you—fuck! Why did you elbow me again?"

"You wouldn't shut up."

"Yeah, but if the genders were switched and I did this and smacked you around when you were being insufferable—which is all the fucking time, mind you—I'd be locked up for assault faster than you could—ugh! You did it again!"

"Seriously, shut up. My elbows are starting to bruise."

* * *

><p><strong>day sixty-one<strong>

While the past thirty-four days have been...interesting, so to speak, there was one facet that stuck out in particular. The thrill of her passing him a note or sending him a text with nothing more than a place and a time melted into the sick pleasure of banter on the way to that location, which dissolved into the one of the two managing to shut the other one up with a kiss. And then, they were this pool of he and her and everything and nothing and it was so magical and and equally wrong and dangerous of them both to think they could pull this off with nobody getting hurt.

When they're finished, they're both silent as they revel in the aftermath. There's only the sound of breathing and reassembling their facades, but then they almost always end up just sitting next to each other. No speaking. No touching. Just being there.

_And there_, he'll think to himself, _is a nice place to be._

* * *

><p><strong>day seventy-one.<strong>

It was inevitable that they would start talking to each other. Not him making rakish comments about her nor her cutting him down at every corner. But talking. Like two normal people. Like anyone who wasn't Massie Block or Derrick Harrington.

All it takes for it set off is him asking her why her parents are never home (not that he minded, anyway) and suddenly she's spilling about how they're really never home or around and _it sucks_ because she _could be dealing drugs or doing drugs_ or anything and _they would never know_.

The regretful look on her face after she's told her harrowing tale prompts him to let out a secret of his own: the fear that he's going to disappoint his father even more than he already has. And she says she wishes she had somebody to disappoint, because that would mean they care. And he replies he'd rather have nobody who cares than people who care too much that he's not free. From there, it circles dangerously out of control and by the time their conversation is over, they're both much too embarrassed to do anything but leave.

Yet they do it all again the next day. And the next. And the next.

It repeats until she's not _Massie Block_ anymore, ballbuster extraordinaire, but that she's Massie Block, somebody who is getting way too close for comfort.

* * *

><p><strong>day eighty-two<strong>

Within the span of eleven days, he learns much about her. That her favorite book is The Old Man and the Sea, her favorite color is purple, and that she's deathly allergic to peanuts. He learns of the last one after he made the unintentional mistake of eating a peanut butter sandwich before going to meet her, and seconds within kissing her lips puff up massively. It is then that he notes the change in her, because fifty something days ago she would've scowled the entire way to the hospital, but that day she was laughing like mad out of the sheer ridiculousness of it.

What he also apprehends, however, that this was the first time he could list any discernible facts about a girl. Sure, he had had his fair share of girlfriends, but he never bothered to get to know them deeper. Irony, it was, that the one he knows most about happened to be the one that should've been the simplest relationship. But, things certainly never work out that way.

Lying lazily on the grass in the Block's backyard, the two had retreated from her bedroom disheveled and decided to enjoy the stars. What started with a snippy comment about how he needed to stop knocking stuff over in her room turned into a conversation about their ideal vacations.

"So yeah," he says, studying Orion, "I think New Zealand would be the best. Great landscape and cities, and there's a lot to do. Surfing, rock climbing, base jumping. Plus, I hear they have a shitload of sheep, which is kinda cool..."

"I've always wanted to go to Niagara Falls," she breaths out dreamily. His falling eyes shoot open and he's reminded of the spring break trip last year in which he, Dylan, and Josh (before the coupledom) road-tripped to Buffalo to see the falls.

Before he knows it, he's saying, "Wanna go?"

She snorts. "You're joking."

Standing up, he replies, "I'm not. It's a six hour drive, but if we leave now..." He glances at his watch. "We can be the first people there when it opens."

She sits up as well and frowns. "We can't just go to Niagara Falls. You need to plan this in advance and pack, get supplies and—"

"You don't even need to pack, really. Just grab some clothes and money. And your passport. We can stop at the store and get a bunch of snacks and energy drinks and shit. Come on, it'll be fun," he pleads with a childish grin. "Unless you're scared?"

Her mouths sets into a straight line and her eyes flash with contempt. "Never."

* * *

><p><strong>day eighty-three.<strong>

Six hours, twenty five minutes, five bags of chips, two greasy Taco Bell bags, and an endless amount of energy drinks later, they're in Buffalo, on the next exit to Niagara Falls.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Massie says every hour, with a mix of disbelief and utter glee. "I just can't believe it." By the time the falls is officially open, they're the first two in line for tickets for the Maid of the Mist, the famed boat. Luckily, something about the notion of going to her dream place subdued Massie, as she was infinitely more pleasant on the drive there. They had passed through customs with ease, given that they were fortunately both eighteen and didn't have to use the ridiculous cover story they had spun while driving there.

He can only laugh, because it hasn't yet registered with him either that he's in Canada. With her. "Believe it," he whispers in her ear teasingly, giving her hand a squeeze. Quickly, they both remember that hand-holding is a pinnacle of having strings attached to each other and awkwardly slide them back in their pockets.

Amongst the hundreds of tourists there, they boarded the boat and descended down to the water. It was a mildly stormy day, but the that didn't stop the pair from running around the ship like wildly immature high schoolers, the exact opposite of what they strove to be.

"Shit!" exclaims Massie as the boat heads closer to the falls, and a few heads turned at her loud cursing. "I mean, shit! Look at it! It's...it's so..._unfuckingbelievable_." Pure wonderment pulses through that cold heart of hers, he observes, and that's what's really _unfuckingbelievable_.

They're practically passing through the falls now, with the mist flowing down on them like the world flipped upside down, and the oceans are in the sky and they're waiting below for the downpour. In the midst of it all, he rests an arm casually across her shoulders and she unconsciously rests her head on and right then, everything was right in the world.

* * *

><p><strong>day eighty-six.<strong>

**josh (2:38): **hmm, thanks for telling me you went to canada, you dick. you know how much i love tim horton's donuts.

**derrick (2:40):** hmm, maybe if you removed yourself from dylan's face we all could've gone together?

**josh (2:43):** dylan said you told her you went with your parents, though.

**derrick (2:46):** sure did.

**josh (2:47):** i can't stand your parents, though.

**derrick (2:49:** you and me both, man.

**josh (2:51):** but what's interesting is that i thought you said your parents were in paris for the month?

**josh (2:51):** and you know what else is interesting? apparently, massie was in canada that weekend too. also in niagara falls.

**derrick (2:54):** spooky stuff. people visiting canada, that is.

**josh (2:56):** you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?

**derrick (2:57):** oh josh of little faith, would i lie to you?

**josh (2:58):** with pleasure, my friend. with. pleasure.

* * *

><p><strong>day eight-nine.<strong>

It all comes to a crashing halt eventually, like most good things do. Expect he doesn't bank on it happening while they're in her Benz—same place as their first encounter, go figure—on a similar looking night. Even the music is the same, from what he remembers. The only thing that's different is that he's not piss drunk and she's not acting like a harpy. Well,_ less_ harpy-ish.

They're even driving down the same street as last time, and the streetlights are illuminating her face and silhouettes have returned. Eerie doesn't being to cut it, he's afraid. Deja vu takes over his mind and he can't help but feel this is the falling action of his story, because beginnings and ends are almost indistinguishable in their audacity.

(He's right, of course, his intuition almost never fails him. But since when is being right something he does?)

When looking back at this moment, he is still hopelessly confused as to what made him say it. She's bobbing her head to her music and tapping the steering wheel in rhythm to it, all while she tells him about this book that she's reading. Those eyes are lighting up and she's genuinely excited to be talking about literature on a Friday night, like there is nothing more she'd rather be doing and she's sort of happy to be with him of all people, even though she would never, ever admit it.

But it's only when she diverts her gaze from the road to grin at him wickedly does he say, "I think I love you."

She slams on the brakes and they're both flying forward in more ways than one.

_Shit._

**[...]**_  
><em>

After assessing the damage to themselves (none) and her car (thankfully none), they're forced to examine the destruction to their relationship.

"No, no, no, Derrick, no. No. How could you even—? What is that supposed to mean...this was supposed to be easy! Fun! Fuck, it wasn't supposed to mean anything! Look at us! We tolerate each other at best. Love? Why? Why would you say that? Why would you _feel _that? It's me and it's you and yeah, there's not supposed to be love! That wasn't in the plan, that's just..._no. _We can't. We just can't. Not this way and not with _us_, for that matter. I knew going on that road-trip was pushing. Fuck, I'm always wrong, aren't I? Wrong about that not meaning anything and wrong about us and wrong about you. You're _Derrick Harrington_. You don't fall in love, and definitely not with me! This is too much. This is way too much. Love. Bullshit."

She's frenzied and her hands shake, but her eyes stayed glued to his with a sad sort of desperation, as if she's truly sorry that their strange trysts could lead to that, something real. Tears trail down the face of the strong, but she's not as tough as either of them believed her to be. Beneath the regret and the nausea, he almost feels like his heart isn't breaking at all.

Almost.

She delivers the final blow, "I don't think we should see each other any more."

And then everything shatters so abruptly and profoundly that he forces himself to remember that it wasn't really intact to begin with.

* * *

><p><strong>day one-hundred.<strong>

It's nearly two weeks after what can only be referred to as The Incident and he had taken to becoming a hermit, locked up in his house with his music and the TV blaring simultaneously. Only he still can't block out his own thoughts. A sentiment of paradoxical the human mind could be, of course. While he still attended school begrudgingly, it was obvious to anyone with functioning eyes that their king Derrick Harrington was miserable. Problem was, nobody knew _why_. Some assumed that something happened to his parents, other guessed he had lost his scholarship to Duke. Either way, something was wrong, but the only two people in the world who had a semblance of what that something was were not speaking. To each other and to anyone else.

"Good morning, sunshine." Josh and Dylan traipse into his home at an ungodly hour. Even though they still technically had school, it was nothing a few well placed phone calls couldn't fix.

He was collapsed on the couch, eyes shut tightly and looking like he had been hit with a dozen tornadoes. "Fuck off."

"That's no way to speak to a lady," Dylan chirps, whacking him with a pillow. "And this place is a _mess_." Indeed it was. He had given the maid a week off with pay so he could properly wallow in his own depression.

"I repeat,_ fuck off_."

Josh is considerably more sympathetic. "Come on, man, you've got to snap out of your funk. It's getting unsanitary now," he scolds, pushing him off the couch in an attempt to wake him up.

"I'm not having a funk, it's just..." He doesn't know how to finish the statement. There's no way he could say he not only had his heart broken, but trampled on and spit at and burned at the stake without losing a bit of his dignity. With Massie out of his life now, his pride was all he had left.

Josh and Dylan exchange a worried look. She moves to sit on the floor next to him and pats him gently on the shoulder. "You're going to have to get over her eventually, you know," she whispers, with all the care of the mother he never really had.

Rolling on his back, he sighs with defeat. He chooses not to question how they found out, because at least they had the respect to keep it to themselves. But there's a definite fear in his eyes, because Massie Block had gotten to him like no other girl before and like no other girl could ever could. The thought made him nostalgic for her touch, her laugh, and even her putdowns. But, it also filled him with an ineffable sorrow, because it just wasn't fair that she gets to come into his life like that and run away when it could develop into something bigger, something better. _He_ was supposed to be the one who never got attached or would never even think of saying "_I love you_" to a girl. He's supposed to come and go whenever he pleased, not _her._

Because damn it if it didn't hurt to be on the receiving end.

"I know," he says finally, with just a hint of hope gleaming in his eyes, "I will."

* * *

><p><strong>epilogue.<strong>

He only speaks to Massie one more time, and that's at graduation to apologize for accidentally stepping on her heel as they exit the hall. She says it's okay, and they part ways like the strangers they should've been after all. They had spent most of the year avoiding each other, and they both end up fading into each other's backgrounds like stars in a murky sky. It's difficult for him, he manages to not forget her, but simply reduce her to "some girl I used to know". Because really, it was better off that way.

When college acceptance letters roll around, he ends up surprising everyone and chooses to go to Columbia University with Dylan and Josh instead of the much expected Duke. He'll claim that it's because Columbia has prettier girls and Duke sucks at soccer anyway, but he knows the real reason is that there's some sort of bliss in not being _Derrick Harrington _any more, but just Derrick, which is perfectly fine by his book. The trio spend the summer preparing for their first year in the 'real world' and revel in their last bit of pure, unadulterated, childish fun.

September comes much too quickly, and suddenly he finds himself in Columbia's auditorium listening to the dean welcome the excitable freshmen. It's mad and it's wonderful, because each of the dean's words mean only one thing: change. And that change was welcomed with open arms.

But then change's flighty companion _history _flies in the form of a familiar figure who takes the empty seat next to him. The scent, the mannerisms, and the silhouette bring back memories, and he knows who it is without turning around.

Summer was good to Massie Block. She leans and whispers, "Hey there," and smiles sheepishly at their chance encounter.

"Hey," he amiably greets her, returning the grin.

Like she had said that fateful night, it's her and it's him and they're not supposed to work out in the end, but the bit of electricity as he bumps into her elbow tells him that it's okay, that they'll be okay. For now, everything is alright and that made all the difference.

* * *

><p><strong>author's note: Wow, I know..this is a ridiculously long oneshot and it's probably seven types of rambly and awful. But consider it a short story, maybe? I don't know, all I know is that if I'm writing Massington, better go off with a bang right?<strong>

**Livvy, I hope you like this story and that you're not going blind over having to sit and read so much of it. Really. Have a fantastic birthday, you're an amazing person and I'm glad to have gotten to know you over here! :D**

**As for everyone else, feedback is always loved. You guys are awesome!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Ren**


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